More Than A Mere Village
by Mrs Bella Riddle
Summary: As Tom Riddle entered Hogsmeade for the first time, he was well aware of the significance. He also knew his reaction was the same as a mere mudblood.


**A/N:** This is written for the Fanfiction Tournament (which had to feature a character in their 3rd year), the Favourite Era Bootcamp with the prompt 'historical' and the Favourite Character Bootcamp with the prompt 'hate'. Also, please be aware if you haven't done the math, that this takes place in 1940 which will explain some of the characters comments. I do love my war era fics.

)o(

Even though he had only known his true power and influence for less the three years, Tom Riddle was aware of his place in the world. He shunned his horrid and inappropriate upbringing in the orphanage and forgot about the filth that surrounded him. He gloried in the gifts that he had been blessed with and he knew he was superior.

Most of the time.

He did not care about socialising for the mere enjoyment of others. As a young boy he had learned that there was not pleasure in that. Others were fools. Others were weak. No one could ever be comparable to him. They were just annoying and irritating. Everything in the orphanage had always been better when he was alone.

Tom knew that, but he also knew sometimes you needed people. He knew that it was wrong to appear like he was too isolated. Nothing would ever be achieved by being the strange unsocial boy in the corner. He knew others had influence and he wanted that influence.

So, he had grown closer to others. He had never really cared about them, but only about what they could give him. Of course that meant that most would be from proud and pureblood families. It was Tom's intention and he was hardly going to not take advantage of the connections they could bring.

However, there were occasions when his pureblood associates reminded him of thought he would rather not linger on.

Stepping into the High Street, his boots crushed on the ice and sludge as he gazed down the row of delicate cottages. Crisp white snow bordered the roofs of each shop and the window panes. Golden light from candles shone from within given a pleasant impression. However, Tom did not care about that. It was only an illusion. What he did care about what was Hogsmeade village represented.

There were no muggles in Hogsmeade. Each passerby was blessed with magic and did not possess the filth that marred the town or its purpose. It was a sign of how the world should be. A world where there were no muggles was impossible, but it would have been a perfect.

More than that, Tom could see the history in Hogsmeade. He could see the first cottage built by Hengist of Woodcroft in the distance and he could pinpoint which buildings had been a rallying point for goblins in the 1612 Rebellion. At every point and at every turn, Tom could note historical sites and buildings. He could feel the significance and intrigue in the air.

It left Tom more than a little giddy and overwhelmed.

The boys who strode beside him were not impacted. They barely lifted a gaze from their conversation to the surroundings. It was not of any interesting.

Unlike Tom, they had seen it all before.

He hated it. He loathed every reminder that he was not like them. He might have steadily shed away his profile as a poor, filthy, mudblood orphan, but the impression was still there. He might have hid it well, but, in the end, he had the same lack of knowledge and experience that only a mudblood would have.

"This is the first time in Hogsmeade isn't it, Tom?" Rufus Lestrange asked smoothing back his dark hair as he turned from a conversation with Christopher Avery.

"It is," Tom replied curtly as he tried to contain his emotions. It would not do to reveal his weakness. The boys around him might have been acquaintances, but he did not trust any of them. It would be foolish to do so. They could so easily turn on him.

"And what do you think about it?"

Another boy may have expressed his thoughts, but that was Tom. He was not foolish. Instead he nodded, his face blank like he was not at all impacted by the history and magic in the air.

"It is a nice village. Very cultural and very historical."

"Of course, though it's hardly the most fascinating place," Nicholas Rosier chimed in from where he lulled slightly behind the group. "It's just another wizarding village. Sure it is the only town without muggles, but it is easy enough to avoid them in other towns if have any of the knowledge of the wizarding streets and alleys."

"But you forget about, Honeydukes," Christopher cut in, a smile sliding over his round cheeks. "Nothing could be better than Honeydukes."

Tom flicked his eyes to Christopher sizing up the fourth year boy while attempting to hide his disapproval. It was a foolish comment. Despite the fact that even Tom could admit he did enjoy sweets, he would not have expressed it in such a way which would leave him open to jest.

"It could be," Nicholas murmured, in a tone that made him clear he was thinking the same way as Tom. "But, for one, it is only a shop. And two, you must be living in under a giant if you think the shop will be the same. The rationing from the muggle war will mean there will be so little to buy."

"I suppose..." Christopher trailed off frowning slightly. "Bleeding muggles. They ruin everything."

Tom normally would have agreed with that sentiment and certainly his opinions towards muggles had not improved, but he was keenly aware of what was happening in Europe and the bombs falling on London. It was not comfortable to think that he could ever support muggles, even if one group of them was the lesser of evils compared to the Nazi muggles.

Instead he could not speak in such a way. It was just like with Hogsmeade. He did not need to highlight his links to muggles. It would always need to be hidden.

Despite that, Tom did not slid away. He ignored the conversation but he continued to stride down the cobbled streets with his head held high and he stride unyielding. He would hide his weakness and he would lead. They may have had stronger links to pureblood society, but he was more intelligent and he would more powerful.

And they were following him.

"It's time to look at the Three Broomsticks," he commented giving more than a hint of a forceful request to hide his frustration. "It is only in at the end of the road."

He did not pause. He did not wait for any response. He only kept walking.

As they followed it was that fact alone that allowed Tom's lips to curl upwards for the first time that day.


End file.
